I don’t need to be anyone to anybody.
I don’t need to be any place.
I don’t need to hold on to anything — especially if it is bad for me.
[People, Places, Things]
Closure? Need to tie up loose ends?
Nope. Heard it before.
Just bait for another round of blame-shifting,
victimhood-claiming theater, and poisonous pointing persecution.
I’m so “Cold/Cruel?” >> Consider the source.
“Ruthless” — sure, if my name were Ruth. Consider yourself without one. One less Ruth in the room. Ruth has exited the building.
“Heartless” might be accurate — my heart is no longer given to them. Nor is my trust. Nor is my patience. Nor is my time, attention, concern, hope, dreams, goals.
I am pursuing MY LIFE.
“But… but… but… the poison FEELS bad that you won’t take it. Don’t you care? Don’t you want to be liked by the poison? You are hurting the poison’s ego… err… feelings.”
I am okay with being called names like “bad” because I don’t want to be deceived, manipulated, mistreated, and gaslighted about my mistreatment. I don’t want to be drawn into other people’s deceptions, ploys, and mind games.
100% bad daughter. No contact with mother since 1996. (Heard she passed away. I still can’t find an obituary.)
110% bad sister. The Enforcer tox-sis made up the New Rule. (Hear her roar!) She declared we no longer need to have relationships with blood relatives who have abused us — pointing at my brother with suspicious claims, expecting me to side with her.
I didn’t. Still don’t.
I took the New Rule. Dropped my mother, her parent and family, AND Enforcer tox-sis and family in my response letter. (*See letters of 1995–1996)
I’ve been on a “we’ll see how it goes” with Eldest tox-sis Until the e-mails in 2016 indicated she didn’t know if she liked me as a person or wanted a relationship. I was relieved to let go.
Then she popped back in 2019, right as I was attempting to enroll in the PRRC program at the VA.
I didn’t see contact with her as a good choice while trying to heal.
I did not need or want anyone around who had already shown me — shown me what regard they held me in, the lack of respect, consideration, understanding, encouragement, support, kindness.
I chose not to self-sabotage, which I would be doing by including a poisonous personality.
Whether delivered with forethought and planning, OR unthinkingly with the “oops, I forgot you might matter,” OR the twisted feigned surprise — “did I just destroy you? tee hee!” sadism.
I will not partner with, befriend, or reconcile with anyone driven to undermine me and every attempt I make to improve my circumstances.
My brother kept in touch until he stopped having time for me. I check in once in a while. One night he randomly called and invited me to talk — I realized I was a temporary placeholder for who he’s usually with. She had made other plans that night. No time for me; still the case.
Now I’m “too serious,” “too hard” — not soft and pliable, moldable, manipulatable. See how the problem is still me?
Soft heart: the problem. Hard heart: the problem.
A TRUE Heart: huge problem.
Come on now — pick one.
There is always a SPIN.
The TARGET is always “wrong,” always “in the wrong” — for standing up against being wronged.
Where They are “right,” “in the right,” “have the right,” and They are “righteous!” [Self-righteous.]
Then there is the information deliberately withheld. Deliberately hidden.
Such as everyone agreeing “they were not going to tell me.”
(This hints toward an upcoming article: How I Was Dead-named Because “They Decided.”)
Conversations I am not invited to be part of.
Conversations about me.
What I am doing with my life
— from people outside of me and my life.
[Quick update: THOSE ARE CALLED OPINIONS AND GOSSIP. NOT FACTS.]
How many times do you suppose I have to see it, hear it, live through it — before I know what I’m looking at, what I am hearing, what is playing out right in front of me?
I caught on by 12 years old.
When my home life was obliterated by selfish greed and the endless tantrums of the most immature in the household — Mother and Eldest tox-sister.
Nobody else wants to agree that I had to grow up fast.
They wear their sheep suits as they chaperone.
“I didn’t know the last time we talked would be the last time we talked.”
That line showed up in the last letter exchanged with my eldest tox-sister (2023–2024). It was 2019 before that. And 2016 before that. I found the e-mails.
Pause. Consider.
I remember being told by my grandmother: “Don’t take people for granted. Don’t take love for granted. Because it might be the last time you see them.”
Not being able to say goodbye sounds like a them problem, not an anything-about-me problem.
[HINT: Learn to live with disappointment. Most of us already have.]
My eldest tox-sis wrote a eulogy — she told me — for everyone she disowned. Then burned it “as part of a cleansing ritual, to release negative energy.” Seems more like hiding the evidence.
Hiding the performance, the display of victimhood, the entitlements that followed, the new self-awarded accolades.
Little peck. Cheap cheap.
The complaint: I moved her from “sister/family” to “friend zone?”
>>>>> From cautious zone to stranger, more like.
From stranger to hostile, intrusive, and invasive (— since 2012.)
Yes. The confusion is the dates.
The tox-family spin will be dramatic: “All of a sudden!” “Out of nowhere!” “Never saw it coming!”
These memories and flashbacks go back to my earliest recollections and the repeated stories told around those moments.
No one took responsibility for what happened to that kid, that I was.
“But is it really trauma? You survived it all, didn’t you?”
Heard that in real life, with my actual ears, every time I explain that I am estranged — disowned, dis-in-fam-tribed, ostracized, alienated, shunned, the black sheep, the invisible child, the scapegoat, the ungodly abomination.
FOG: Fear. Obligation. Guilt.
Aren’t you afraid of what they’ll call you, how they’ll come after you?
Aren’t you obliged to these people — family, friend group, bowling league?
Aren’t you going to feel so bad when…
You will be known as the worst possible xyz in all of history. Literally worse than Hitler/Satan/Attila.
Herd tactic that too.
Clarify for yourself the line between “friendly” and “unfriendly.”
[HINT: If it injures, hurts, insults, debases,
demeans, humiliates, degrades, or devalues
— it is not friendly.
The zone must shift.]
Once it’s clear someone will continuously come at you with animosity, the enlisted term for that is “hostile.”
This goes back to Poe (Edgar Allan Poe)
I heed not that my earthly lot Hath little of Earth in it — That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute: I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But that you sorrow for my fate Who am a passer-by.
At that moment — when all that hate and resentment is unleashed in words that cannot be unspoken,
when you finally hear how they really feel, deep down — it was not love.
It was ownership.
[HINT: Love feels different.]
In that moment the truth about my worth (— worthlessness, in their opinion —)
my badness, my wrongness, my deficits.
All the accompanying nonverbals: disgust, repulsion, ugliness.
They were done pretending.
Now they were really going to let me know. To me. To my face.
This point of no return.
No un-saying it.
Done.
To them: there was mood, and mood, and event, and event.
To me: And that is all it took? A few things stack and now my value is erased — because they cannot handle stress, complications, difficulties?
I cannot think of anyone I am okay with dehumanizing.
Here — in this position (family, close relationship), in this role (father, mother, brother, sister,) — of all people to dehumanize: the baby of the family. The youngest, smallest, most vulnerable, most naive.
I don’t understand … if they hate someone, then WHY try to keep her.
Why the power and control dynamic?
If the target really IS the lowest of the low, the dredge of society, an abomination —
Why not let her go?
This soliloquy inspired this song:
Which inspired me to remaster this song:
Please check out my playlist.
Traveler Chimiru 
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